


If You Want Peace (Prepare for War)

by KilannaD



Series: What is it to be a Hero? [7]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Luke Cage (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Daredevil Season/Series 02, F/M, Gen, Luke Cage Seasons/Series 01, Not Canon Compliant, Thor: Dark World, Universe Alteration - Alternate Timeline, Universe Alteration - Peter is Matt's son, character death is off screen, for any of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28388238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilannaD/pseuds/KilannaD
Summary: Peter should be paying attention to the news about Greenwich. He knows he should be. This is just the latest in the line of supers destroying the world, one piece at a time. Normals are up in arms about it, calling for governments to tighten control on all of them. The Avengers, still fending off questions about the newly resurrected Bucky Barnes, suddenly have to defend themselves about an attack that they likely hadn’t even known about, Thor appearing and leaving so quickly no one could get a hold of the man. This is important but Peter can’t bring himself to pay attention to world news.Not when Hell’s Kitchen is home to a new vigilante.And this one leaves bodies behind.__Or; Daredevil might have been the first super vigilante, but he isn't the last.
Relationships: Background, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson/Karen Page, Matt Murdock & Frank Castle, Matt Murdock & Peter Parker, Matt Murdock & Peter Parker & Wade Wilson, past matt murdock/elektra nachios
Series: What is it to be a Hero? [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014840
Comments: 16
Kudos: 130





	If You Want Peace (Prepare for War)

**Author's Note:**

> WOW okay, here I am. Some quick notes, most of which have been briefly talked about on my Tumblr.  
> Title taken from a Latin saying; si vis pacem, para vellum  
> This is LONG AF mostly because originally the Luke Cage s1 and CA:TWS were supposed to be their own thing but then it didn't really make sense to have them separate and so now there are like, a billion plot lines happening here. So, enjoy a super long update. This does mean Affray Avenue will have six instead of seven parts.   
> Somehow I got all the way up to the Pier scene at which point my muse went, hmmm how bout naw? So the end of this is... low quality but I don't know how to fix it.  
> I have most of January off (reason on my Tumblr if you're curious) so hopefully Affray Avenue will be done by February.  
> Happy Holidays!! I hope you are all taking care of yourselves. I will see you all in the New Year!  
> (I continue not having a plan for the rest of the parts in this series so bare with me)

Peter should be paying attention to the news about Greenwich. He _knows_ he should be. This is just the latest in the line of supers destroying the world, one piece at a time. Normals are up in arms about it, calling for governments to tighten control on all of them. The Avengers, still fending off questions about the newly resurrected Bucky Barnes, suddenly have to defend themselves about an attack that they likely hadn’t even known about, Thor appearing and leaving so quickly no one could get a hold of the man. This is important but Peter can’t bring himself to pay attention to world news.

Not when Hell’s Kitchen is home to a new vigilante.

And this one leaves bodies behind.

* * *

They aren’t there when the bodies first show up. It’s their enforced night off so Peter’s up in Harlem, hanging out at MJ’s place with her and Ned and Matt, for once, is out with Karen and Foggy. It’s normal, and safe, and _peaceful_ , all the way up until Peter’s burner starts ringing and Matt bursts out, “Level four, I need you at Metro Gen. Karen is there.” Peter doesn’t listen to the details, doesn’t need it. He’s out the window, stealing a bandana to tie around the bottom half of his face as he books it back towards the apartment, deciding that he’ll start bringing his suit with him everywhere.

As soon as he’s suited up, his comm goes off and Belphegor comes up, voice tiny and hurried, the clack of keys in the background. Beelzebub can just make out Black Clematis crooning something.

“ _Shots have been fired at Metro Gen, I’m in the cameras. Big guy, lots of guns, chasing Karen and another guy down the hallways._ ” The hospital is three blocks away from their apartment, but Beelzebub gets there within a minute. Belphegor directs him to the roof, says he’s keeping an eye on Karen’s car.

Beelzebub makes out the dark shape from a hundred feet away, times himself so that his whistle cuts through the air right before he slams into him. There’s an answering call, but Beelzebub can’t pay attention to it, not when there’s a big guy, pushing over six foot, strapped to the gills with weapons and snarling at him.

“Didn’t realize Guns R’ Us had a sale recently,” he quips, knocking aside the pistol. Big Guy is fast though, tackling Beelzebub to the ground before he can register the _screaming_ of his danger sense. He’s packed with muscles, heavy where he lands across Beelzebub’s chest.

~~He pushes Peter back, too strong to be fought against-~~

There’s a snarl and the weight is gone, a blur of red flashing against the hulking mass of black. Beelzebub rolls to his feet, lashing out a web to catch Big Guy’s arm before he can swing at Daredevil. Double-D takes the opening, slamming a spinning kick into Big Guy’s face. Big Guy shifts to keep his weight, but Beelzebub reaches for his ankle, uses that and the tight hold of the web to twist and pull with his super strength. The guy goes flying into the wall, but he’s up again in the next moment, sprinting for the conjoining roof.

“Can’t a guy learn to stay down?” Beelzebub pants out, but he’s already chasing, a line of vigilantes dancing across the rooftops. Daredevil manages to catch up first, flinging himself into the fight with new energy. Big Guy is trained, and trained good. It isn’t hard to see this isn’t the same basic criminals they fight on a night to night basis. Beelzebub slips in between the gaps of the fighting, blocking an attack when Daredevil can’t, stepping out of the way just _so_ , so Big Guy can’t see the reprisal coming. He webs a leg, goes to trip him, but Big Guy twists in the other direction _hard_ and Beelzebub’s wrist burns from his web ripping out of him. He lets go instead of suffering more.

Daredevil moves in the split second where Big Guy has to focus on Beelzebub, goes in for another hit. Big Guy goes down, and suddenly everything is _screaming_ in Beelzebub’s ear and he can’t tell what’s his danger sense and what’s him as Big Guy pulls out a small pistol from an ankle holster,

~~Uncle Ben and Aunt May, blood coating them-~~

can’t hear over the rushing in his ears as he puts on a burst of speed, forcing super strength into his legs, letting the world narrow to the shriek tearing from his lips and the bullet flashing through the air,

~~The gunshot rings out and he’s not _fast enough_ -~~

to the pain in his shoulder, there and gone, the smack of him into his dad, forcing them off the roof and down, down, down, pain bursting across his eyes in flashes of colour and freezeframe images.

Gray stone as they roll.

Red and horns above him, mouth open.

Cold, even in the warm August night.

Square jaw, sharp cheekbones, streetlights highlighting splatters of blood.

Something pressing against his collarbone and pain, _pain_ , sharp and there and all consuming, just like the darkness.

* * *

Pain comes back first, but at least _something_ comes back. That’s good, right? Peter likes to think when he dies he’ll go somewhere pain doesn’t exist, so he hasn’t died yet.

~~He’s done a lot of awful things, has blood on his hands.~~

~~Maybe it’ll hurt, when he finally goes.~~

Hearing comes back next, a slow trickle that builds into a roaring waterfall of _too loud, too much_. A hoarse voice murmuring indistinct words, the clink of beads against each other, the clack of the coffee pot against a mug, the yells in the streets, cars screeching, blood pounding in his ears and a cacophony of breathing, soft and quiet, slow and distinct, heavy and loud. Words, louder now, and Peter knows he should listen, should pay attention, but everything is so loud and he can’t parse out understanding from sensation. Something slips over his ears, slow and easy, barely touching the rest of his body and touch barrels through him as sound is once again blocked out, taste and smell snipping at its heels.

Silk sheets, and Matt’s bed, soft with huge, plump pillows that Peter is sunk into, something dipping the side a little. The scratch of gauze wrapped around his neck and shoulder, catching softly on a silk shirt that must also be Matt’s, leading to his right arm raised on a pillow but still tucked underneath something warm. Blankets weighing him down, warm and heavy, tucked around his chin and tickling his nose with the soft fuzz. His mouth is sticky and filled with cotton, the rich acid of orange juice laying thick across his tongue, a counterbalance to old pennies and concrete, a taste he’s all too familiar with. Coriander, tobacco, bay, bougainvillea, rock salt and moss dance through the air, and Peter realizes Matt opened one of his spell bottles and set it near his bed. The smell wouldn’t leave for a while, Peter knows, and the familiar healing scents ease something in him, mingling as they are with Matt’s clean, unscented linens and room.

He takes a few deep breaths, letting the spell bottle work its magic, before cracking his eyes open. The room is dark, light only barely trickling in from the ajar door and Peter’s thankful for it. His eyes burn, refusing to open all at once. He blinks them a few times, until he can manage to at least squint his vision clear. Matt’s leaning against the bed, still wearing the Daredevil suit, helmet and gloves tossed aside to reveal his mess of hair and the dark circles under his eyes, mouth pulled tight and one hand wrapped in his rosary, the other tight around Peter’s own hand. He looks years older.

Peter tries to raise his free arm to knock the headphones off but pain shoots through him, freezing him with a gasp and sob. Matt’s lips move, though Peter hears nothing. Matt presses his arm gently back to the bed before leaning forward and easing the headphones off. Sound trickles in slowly and Peter does breathing exercises to regulate his enhanced hearing, the same way Matt showed him.

“Da-ad?” Peter croaks, voice burning. Matt grabs a glass of the table with a straw and eases it to Peter’s lips.

“Drink slowly, sweetheart.” Peter listens, no matter how good the cool water feels. Matt, having been in the recovery position before, answers all the basic questions. “You were shot last night; it nicked your right carotid artery. Frank and I managed to get you here, and Claire met us, stitched you up. You lost a lot of blood and Frank had to donate some to keep you steady. I got Luke to come over to keep an eye on Frank and let Jess know to keep her eyes out while we’re off the streets. It’s about eight in the evening.”

“Frank?” Peter manages to ask when the glass is taken away.

“The guy who shot you.” Matt presses his lips tight, jaw clenching. “You shouldn’t have done that, Peter. The bullet was meant for me-”

“I wasn’t about to watch you get shot,” Peter snaps back and suddenly

~~He shook Uncle Ben’s shoulders, but he’d already gone still, wound dripping blood.~~

it’s too much again, everything hitting him at once.

~~Aunt May didn’t respond when he called her.~~

~~Frank pulled out a gun, snapping it towards his dad.~~

~~It only took a second to realize it was aimed at his head.~~

~~He couldn’t lose another parent.~~

~~Matt couldn’t die.~~

“I c-can’t, dad.” He’s crying, body shaking with his tears and his shoulder burns from the movement. Matt hushes him, face crumbling before he gently pulls Peter’s face into his neck, careful not to move his shoulder. “I _can’t_. I can’t lose you, can’t go through it again, I _can’t_.”

“I’m sorry, son. It’s okay, we’re both okay. Shhh, we’ll figure it out, I’m right here.”

Peter heaves in sobs, trying to get air into his lungs. Matt continues to shush him and murmur comforting words. Eventually, Peter manages to calm down. Matt wipes his face off, and Peter starts to drift off again.

“Not yet, kiddo.” Matt nudges him back awake. The pain is a steady beat against his skin, making everything slow and viscous. “Claire’s got to take a look at you, okay?”

He groans just in time for the door to slide a little farther open. Peter just makes out two figures in the living room—Frank and Luke, probably—before Claire slips in and closes the door behind her.

“You,” she says critically, “Were supposed to be careful.”

“I just missed you, Ms. Nurse.” He gives a lopsided smile. “You never call, never write. What’s a guy supposed to do?”

“Not get shot, for starters. And how many times have I told you to call me Claire?”

“Lost count.” She smiles a little at the familiar banter, humming low when she pulls back the bandage around his shoulder. She messages a cream into the skin and Peter hisses at the pain.

“Sorry, bud. You’re doing good though. Your healing factor probably saved your life, but you’ll need to stay in bed for at least a week. Have someone rub this-” she holds up a small tub of the cream- “on your shoulder and neck three times a day, for the next month and a half. It’ll keep the scar tissue from tightening too much. Although, I won’t be surprised if you get an early warning when it’s going to rain from now on.”

“Cool. Maybe now I’ll stop forgetting an umbrella.”

She smiles tightly at the joke, running through a basic test of all his fingers, toes and checking for a concussion. Finally, she says a goodbye, gives Matt a warning glare, and disappears out of the apartment.

Peter tries to sit up, hisses at the pain, and pushes up anyway. Matt cusses at him, but props him up a little better just in time for someone to poke their head in. It takes Peter a second to realize it’s Luke Cage from the time they helped out Jess.

“Oh, hi. Uh, don’t think we’ve officially met, but I helped out the time with the shotgun. I’m Beelzebub.”

Luke’s lips twitch a little into a smile. “Yeah, Matt’s told me about you. Peter, right?” At this point, Peter finally realizes that not only is he _not_ suited up, but Matt _is_ , just without the helmet. So much for secret identities.

“Er. No?” Peter looks to Matt, wondering what the hell happened in the last 24 hours. He smiles tightly before responding.

“The situation didn’t lend itself to keeping our names secret. Besides, I trust Luke to keep his mouth shut.”

“And Frank?”

“I don’t give two fucks about your names.” Peter jolts at the unexpected voice, eyeing Frank uneasily. His danger sense, unlike during the fight, goes eerily quiet. Frank is huge, bigger even than Deadpool, and a skilled killer but right now nothing about him is aggressive. He looks Peter over, jaw clenching when he looks at the bandages. “You shouldn’t have taken that bullet.”

“I’m not much a fan of watching my dad get shot,” Peter snaps back.

“I might think you two go too easy on assholes, but I don’t want either of you dead. The shot would only have knocked him out.”

“Well looky here. It only knocked me out, so all’s well.”

Matt makes a tight, unhappy growl in the back of his throat. “You nearly bled out. If Frank hadn’t helped me and donated blood, you would be _dead_ Peter.”

“But I’m _not_ , so it’s fine.”

“It is not!” Peter blinks at Matt, startled at the fear and anger coating his voice. Matt _never_ gets angry at Peter. He takes a few deep breaths before continuing. “We aren’t having this conversation while you’re still healing.”

“Da-”

“No, Peter. You need your rest. School doesn’t start until next week and until then you’ll be staying home. And so help me God, if you even think about leaving this bed without my knowing or so much put a hair out of this apartment I will ground you for _life_ , am I clear?”

Peter almost argues on principle. He’s not a child and the world outside of their apartment is dissolving into chaos between protests and rallies and Frank systematically killing gangs. He has a responsibility to help people, to protect lives, and he can’t do that from his bed.

Matt looks so tired though. His skin tight and jaw clenched, his hair a mess and he clearly hasn’t even changed since the fight last night. And Frank—the man they’d been going after, the killer they wanted to stop—is standing in their apartment, knows their faces. Matt called in Luke for backup in case things went sideways but they haven’t so maybe—just this once—Beelzebub can help Peter Parker and Matt Murdock.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll stay put until Claire clears me.” Matt’s shoulders relax and Peter feels even worse for considering getting back into the fight. “I’m sorry I worried you, dad.”

Matt presses a kiss to his forehead, running his hands through Peter’s hair. “Just—no more near death experiences, okay? My old heart can’t take it.” Peter cracks a smile, blushing when he realizes Luke is still watching, though Frank looks away. “Let’s get some food into you, yeah? See if we can’t jump start your healing abilities.”

* * *

Luke leaves and Peter falls asleep just as Daredevil and Frank make their way to the roof. When he wakes up, he’s alone, his phone, pills, and water set on the table beside him.

It’s morning again and Peter realizes, with a groan of misery, that the world has apparently dissolved into chaos in the two nights he’s been bedridden. His news feed is filled with headlines loudly declaring that “The Punisher”—Frank, Peter assumes—is waging a one man war against gangs. The Dogs of Hell and the Kitchen Irish are mostly wipe out and last night one of the surviving members—name withheld for safety reasons—was injured by the Punisher, who, photos indicate, got into a fight with Daredevil.

Normals are screaming for the Punisher’s head, everyone assuming he’s a mutate or enhanced. He’s turned into their poster child example of how superhumans can’t be trusted to run around without supervision. Peter doesn’t actually know if Frank is superhuman, although he didn’t seem to have super strength, reflexes, or anything of the sort. Just someone who was really, really good with guns. Military, maybe?

Others are claiming the Punisher is a hero, cleaning up the streets in ways the cops and official groups just can’t. MJ sends him a picture of another art piece graffitied to a subway wall. It’s a skull made out of a collection of guns, with _“Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord”_ tagged under it. On his burner, she’s sent a simple text saying mercenaries are all lying low until the Punisher clears out.

Twitter is wondering about how Daredevil and Beelzebub will handle a killer in their territory. #vigilantevsvigilante is trending alongside the snapshot someone got of the fight on the roof, a few minutes before Peter got hurt. News about Greenwich rebuilding after the alien fight is almost completely buried under news about the Punisher and his growing body count. President Ellis claims they’re working on ways to control superhumans and pro-supers have taken this to mean he’s going all Nazi on them. The entire situation gives Peter a headache and he tosses his phone away after sending texts assuring Ned and MJ that he’s alright.

He’s just coming out of the bathroom when Foggy comes in, carrying takeout.

“You,” he says in defeat, “should be in bed. I’m not even surprised you’re not, but still.” It hurts to move, but Peter’s never let that stop him. Peter compromises by sitting on the couch and letting Foggy bring him food.

“What are you doing here Mr. Nelson? Not that I mind. Just, uh, figured you’d be busy.”

“The world is falling apart,” Foggy announces as he flops onto the couch, “And that calls for a lunch break. Matt called and asked me to check on you, so I figured I’d take the company.”

“What about Ms. Page?”

“Kid, at some point we’ll get you to use our names.” Peter gives him a doubtful look and Foggy huffs. “ _Karen_ is off in Karen-land trying to investigate Frank Castle. Because somehow your dad’s crazy has rubbed off on her and I am now the token sane person of our group.”

“Frank Castle? Oh, you mean the Punisher. Hadn’t known his last name is Castle.”

Foggy stares him down before slowly shoving food in his hand. “I’m not going to ask how you know Frank. It probably has something to do with your injury and I just don’t want to know.” This, Peter thinks, is pretty fair.

“Why is Ms. Page investigating Frank?”

“Oh, so the serial killer gets first name privilege,” Foggy mutters around chopsticks. “Am I the only one who cares that he’s killed people?”

“Just because he’s killed people doesn’t mean he can’t change,” Peter insists. It’s hard because his mouth is full but he’s starving and the Chinese food is delicious, so he keeps going. “Everyone deserves the chance to change, Mr. Nelson.”

Foggy purses his lips and shakes his head, but doesn’t get into the argument. “Karen found out that Castle might be part of a cover up and now she’s set on finding out the details. Apparently he lost his family and nearly died himself but no one reported it. There’s some fishy shit surrounding him and she wants to know what and why.” He pokes dejectedly at his orange chicken. “Honestly, I’ve seen reporters that are less tenacious than Karen.”

“Ms. Page would make a pretty cool reporter,” Peter points out. “She’d always report the truth, no matter how little people wanted to hear it. Like Ms. Walker.”

“Walker? As in Trish Walker? The Walker Report? As in my client a few weeks back?”

“Yeah. She didn’t tell you how she got your number?”

“I know Daredevil gave it to her. Just didn’t think that you must know her too, I guess.” Foggy shakes his head. “God, I can’t believe all of this is happening. DA Reyes is pissed at us and we can’t even afford to keep the lights on at this point.”

“I thought the X-Men check was keeping you guys in the black?”

“Yeah, but it ran out fast. And Trish payed, of course, but things are still tipping over and without regular paying clients I can’t see how we’re going to keep this place running.” Foggy drags his hand down his face, groaning. “I should not be talking about this to you. You are a literal child.”

“Sometimes I think adults overcomplicate things too much.”

“Yeah? Alright, Child, what is the Gen Z solution to bankruptcy?”

“Work for someone with money.”

“That’s your big solution? Get a sugar parent?”

Peter shrugs and goes on to explain. “Mr. Nelson, the economy is already shit and designed only to help people born into money. There’s basically no way for someone to start out with nothing and get big without a miracle or—and this is more likely—unless they have someone with money backing them. I support what you and my dad are doing—really, I think it’s amazing that you guys are fighting for the little guys. But the fact of the matter is, unless you make enough money to stay in business, no one is going to get helped. My suggestion is to go to a bigger firm where you’ll be payed decent money and start preparing for opening a firm later down the line. Take pro bono cases in your free time, save money, and build a solid client base that will _follow you_ when you eventually go back and decide to try Nelson & Murdock again.”

Foggy stares, mouth flapping. “That…is incredibly thought out.”

“It’s what I hope to do. But, with Stark Industries and science, instead of not Stark Industries and law.”

Foggy’s phone rings, making him jump. “It’s Karen. I probably need to go.” He heads for the door, but hesitates and turns back to Peter. “Thanks, kid. I’ll think about what you said. Take care of yourself.” He answers his phone and disappears out the door.

Peter, satisfied with his ability to make adults stop being idiots, settles down to play some games on his phone.

He’s just a tad interrupted by Daredevil and Deadpool stumbling through the door covered in blood with Frank hanging between them.

* * *

According to Deadpool, it all went like this;

Little Jo—coworker, fucker is after Deadpool’s ass, hand to God—anyway, Little Jo had a job down in Hell’s Kitchen. Some Yakuza wanted another Yakuza dead.

There are no more Yakuza, Matt interrupts. Daredevil dealt with that.

Deadpool laughs hysterically for six minutes and twenty-seven seconds before cutting off abruptly.

So Little Jo is doing this hit for a Yakuza man, right? And they happen to pass by two red fuckers fighting a fucker in black. Jo thinks one of those red idiots is Deadpool and so asks Deadpool, next time they’re both at Sister’s, what was up and how the little guy took the bullet. Deadpool says, no, I’ve been in New Zealand doing some bodyguard shit, just got back. What did these two red fuckers look like? Little Jo explains and finally Deadpool connects the bullet comment to Baby Beel. Black Clematis, when contacted, assures Deadpool that Beelzebub isn’t dead. But Twitter hasn’t spotted him since even though Daredevil’s been seen fighting the Punisher. Deadpool, genius that he is, figures Punisher capped Beelzebub and now Daredevil is on a revenge quest. Deadpool _loves_ revenge quests, so he decides to help out by hunting down the Punisher and Daredevil while they’re having a screaming match in the middle of town about morality. He puts a bullet in the Punisher’s shin, saunters up to offer Daredevil the killing blow as part of revenge for his little mentee getting hit, but instead of _thanking him_ , Daredevil turns around and starts a fight with Deadpool. Deadpool is highly offended but figures rage and grief have blinded Daredevil and so calmly sits on him until he calms the fuck down. Calm achieved, Deadpool listens as Daredevil asks what on earth Deadpool had been thinking. Deadpool says he’s trying to help with the revenge quest. Daredevil declares him a magnificent moronic motherfucker, now help me get Frank back to my apartment, you stupid piece of shit.

And so they all came here.

“Point of inquiry,” Deadpool says, raising a finger into the air after all this has been explained (?), “Why is there a small child on your couch, Red?”

Here, they all realize that Deadpool has 1. never seen their faces, b) didn’t before know the location of their home and thirdly; has no idea about their identities.

“I’m Daredevil’s son,” Peter settles on saying. Not a lie, doesn’t reveal anyone’s name, and might just save their identities.

Deadpool gasps, hands smacking over his masked mouth and leaving Daredevil with all of Frank’s weight, causing them to stumble to the side.

“No you are _not_. Red, tell me he’s lying. Tell me you aren’t a healthy adjusted adult.”

“I am not a healthy adjusted adult,” Daredevil says without hesitation, shoving and pulling Frank until he collapses on the couch. Peter moves to go and get the First Aid kit. “Proven by the fact that I have two mass murdering soulless husks standing in my apartment next to my _son_.”

“They still have souls,” Peter objects, pulling out the tweezers and going for Frank’s bleeding leg. Daredevil holds out his hand and glares silently until Peter hands it over.

“Normally I’d agree with you, but considering the way the collective IQ plummets when either of them opens their mouths, I’m starting to doubt my faith.” Alcohol gets dumped over the wound, Daredevil blatantly ignoring Frank’s hissed sounds of pain as he reaches in and gets the bullet on the first try. Peter takes the tweezers and alcohol from him, trading it with needle and thread.

“Oooooh, turning a saint into a sinner is on my bucket list. Didn’t realize it’d be so easy. Does your mentee know that you have another Mini-Red in your life? Is he aware he will always play second fiddle?”

“Deadpool, shut the fuck up.”

“Language~”

Peter huffs, muttering insults under his breath. He’s fifteen not a _baby_ and he can damn well cuss if he fucking wants to, thanks.

Daredevil coughs to cover up a laugh, finishing up sewing the hole shut with a neat twist of the thread.

“Thanks,” Frank huffs out, already trying to rise to his feet.

“Oh fuck no. You are staying right the fuck here because every time you leave you start shooting people.”

“Every time I leave I clean up the streets and _finish the job_ , unlike you.”

“Killing isn’t the answer!”

“Well,” Deadpool hums, “Too be fair, a dead asshole is an asshole who can no longer asshole.”

“Did you just turn asshole into a verb?” Peter asks, but he isn’t heard over the shouting that erupts.

“It isn’t our job to play judge, jury, and executioner.”

“Well you sure as shit already play judge and jury. How many of your marks end up stuck in the hospital, bothering nurses and doctors? Death is more deserved.”

“It’s not like we go around kicking puppies, Red. These fucktards deserve to be chopped up.”

“They deserve a fair trial! Hell, so do you.”

“Think you can manage getting us arrest, Red? Think some farce of a trial and some time behind bars will set us to right?”

“Prison doesn’t do shit. It’s just another cesspool of politics and power plays that will eventually stumble out into the real world. Like real life Candyland, you know?”

Peter doesn’t hear the response to this, too busy reaching for his burner. The screen reads Black Clematis and he listens to her clipped, hurried report before hanging up.

“HEY!” All three of them stop, turning to him stiff and tight with anger and vitriol. Deadpool, who seems involved only for shits and giggles, snaps a salute. “Don’t know if any of you _care_ , but Black Clematis says the Irish called in reinforcements and they just got a deal with Turk about weapons. Pick up is in five minutes, down by the docks. Turk’s usual local.”

“ _Fuck_.” Daredevil hisses at Deadpool and Frank, “No bodies.”

“I can help,” Peter begins to offer but Daredevil is already shaking his head.

“You’re healing, so you’re staying put.”

“Dad-”

“I said no. I don’t want you near this fight.”

Peter bites down on his lips. He knows Matt is just scared for him, but he can help. He likes Deadpool, but they can’t really trust either him or Frank not to go for the kill. Daredevil needs backup and Peter can _be_ that backup.

Daredevil huffs a sigh, pulling Peter into a hug against the hard lines of his suit. It’s familiar and comforting in a way he can’t put words to, as is the hand running down the back of his head.

“Let me have this fight,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to Peter’s hair. “I can handle myself, but not if I’m worrying about your injury.” It’s a low blow and Peter’s chest goes tight at the thought he could be a weakness, a distraction, but Matt has a point. He knows he does.

~~He’s too far from Aunt May and Uncle Ben to help.~~

“Come back alive.” His voice cracks and breaks along the words, cresting and falling as he chokes back tears.

“I will. Promise.” Matt, to Peter’s knowledge, has never broken a promise.

“Holyshit,” Deadpool breathes. They pull apart and Peter realizes Frank is gone, but Deadpool is watching them closely. “You’re Beelzebub. Red, your Mini-Red is Mini-Red.”

“No I’m not,” he assures, voice still cracking.

“You so are. What the fuck. You’re a baby.”

“I’m fifteen.”

“Deadpool, where’s Frank?” Daredevil cuts in.

“Oh, he left the second your back was turned.”

“God damnit.” Daredevil turns on his heels, grabbing Deadpool’s suit and pulling him up the stairs by the scruff of his neck. Deadpool waves goodbye to Peter. “Let’s go make sure that idiot doesn’t kill anyone else.”

“Red, I gotta say I’m leaning towards killing the fuckers.”

“No _killing_.”

The door slams shut behind them. With nothing else to do, he warns Black Clematis that Daredevil, Deadpool, and the Punisher are heading to take care of the Irish. Then, thinking about the talk with Foggy and what Karen is doing, he creates a group chat titled Hell’s Rejects with himself, Black Clematis, and Belphegor.

 **Beelzebub:** _I need you two to dig up everything you can on Frank Castle. Get it to Karen Page, when you can._

**Black Clematis:** _The secretary?_

**Beelzebub:** _Yeah. She’s looking into it, could use the help._

**Belphegor:** _On it._

**Black Clematis:** _I spread the word about the docks. Wesel says everyone is going silent for the night. Take care._

**Beelzebub:** _got it, thx._

* * *

When Daredevil comes home, covered in blood and minor injuries, he does it alone and silent.

Pulling out of his costume takes only short, economical movements. He doesn’t bother showering before crawling into Peter’s bed, pulling his son close to his chest. Peter wakes only a little, groggy from the heavy dose of meds he took. He has just enough brain power to realize Matt is shaking, murmuring prayers under his breath and into Peter’s skin.

“ _Have mercy on me, God, in accordance with your merciful love. In your abundant compassion, blot out my transgressions. Thoroughly wash away my guilt; and from my sin cleanse me. For I know my transgressions; my sin is always before me. Against you, you alone have I sinned. I have done what is evil in your eyes. You desire true sincerity, and secretly you teach me wisdom. Cleanse me that I may be pure. Wash me, and I will be whiter than snow. You will let me hear gladness and joy; the bones you have crushed will rejoice. A clean heart create for me, God; renew within me a steadfast spirit. Amen._ ”

* * *

The next day, headlines scream about a massacre at the docks. Matt’s at confession when Peter sees them, and when he returns—face drawn, jaw tight, always keeping Peter within arm’s reach—Peter decides he doesn’t need details. For once, he can let this rest.

The Punisher—whose identity is finally declared as Frank Castle—disappears from the public’s eye, the Kitchen Irish and Dogs of Hell all dead or running. Peter let’s himself heal and return to patrol and the new school year. Deadpool doesn’t show up again and for a little while, things fall back into normal patterns. Luke calls, in mid-August, asking Matt for some information. He gets Black Clematis’s number and an offer of aid. For a hot second, news sources all talk about a mission the Avengers ran, going after A.I.M., a terrorist group. Bucky Barnes is thrust into the spotlight by an amateur recording of him taking a hit and twisting, midair, to snipe an enemy going for Iron Man. Barnes was injured, though the Avengers assure everyone he recovers easily.

The only real problem is the firm. DA Reyes, still holding a grudge against Nelson & Murdock for the botched Grotto thing, has basically black listed them. The fact that they publicly defended a mutant doesn’t help and they find themselves falling more into the red, Karen constantly disappearing to follow leads about the Castle thing, especially after she gets an encrypted email from Black Clematis and Belphegor. Matt, when asked, informs Karen that they’re both trustworthy figures in the underworld and the info is good. It does leave Matt and Foggy without a secretary most days, so Peter picks up more hours interning as summer barrels towards its end. Which is why Peter’s there when Jeri Hogarth of Hogarth, Chao, and Benowitz walks into their office.

* * *

“This is… quaint.” Peter looks up, finding a tall, well dressed dark-haired woman standing in the doorway. She seems to be trying very hard not to sneer at their ramshackle office.

“Hello, ma’am,” Peter says instead of being affronted by her attitude. He’s gotten good at the customer service smile. “Do you have an appointment? Or can I help you with something else?”

“No appointment. I’m Jeri Hogarth, of Hogarth, Chao, and Benowitz.” Peter gives a slow blink but apparently doesn’t give the reaction she’s looking for. She raises an eyebrow at him, giving another slow look around. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Nelson and Mr. Murdock, if they’re free.”

“About what, may I inquire?”

“Their future as lawyers.”

Peter squashes a sliver of worry. He doesn’t know much about HC&B, but the building is huge and obvious in midtown so they clearly have money. Why someone—a partner?—is coming to talk to two low-class Hell’s Kitchen lawyers is beyond him. He fetches both Foggy and Matt and brings three coffees to the conference room. Karen hasn’t come in today, so the coffee is actually drinkable. Matt grabs his wrist as he goes to pull back, smiling calmly.

“Kiddo, why don’t you go take a lunch break.” It’s only three-thirty after school, but Matt keeps up the calm, simple smile he always uses when he’s trying not to lose his shit. Peter takes the hint and leaves hearing range.

When he gets back an hour later, Jeri Hogarth is gone and Matt and Foggy are screaming at each other. Peter makes the executive decision to wait down on the staircase for them to stop. He shoves his earbuds in so he doesn’t have to hear Foggy yell, “I’d like some more stability than vigilantism, Matt!”

Another thirty minutes later, Foggy barrels out the door, not even noticing Peter. Matt—flushed, jaw tight, hands clenching—settles on the stairs next to him. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer an explanation. Peter can feel the tension from him this close, can hear the grinding of his teeth.

“Fogwell’s?” Peter offers. Matt breaths slowly out his nose and jerks his head in a nod.

* * *

After beating the shit out of a punching bag for an hour, Matt is calm enough to at least think rationally and form sentences. Improvement!

“Foggy says you think we should sell ourselves.”

Oh. Does that mean—HC&B is trying to recruit Matt and Foggy?

“I think the economy is shit and sometimes you have to play the system,” Peter settles on saying. “Why is Ms. Hogarth coming for you guys now?”

“Heard DA Reyes hates us, wants to one up her.” Matt spins, leg lashing out and sending soft ripples over the leather of the bag. “Though she was being honest when she said she thinks we have potential. Apparently Jessica is usually her client but they had a falling out of some sort and Hogarth is happy to let me handle her from now on. And she was very impressed with Foggy’s handling of the Summers case.”

“You’d be paid regularly?”

A huff of laughter, tight and depressed. “Oh yeah. Big bucks. Foggy thinks we should take the money.”

“But you don’t.”

Matt doesn’t say anything for a little bit and Peter bites his lips to keep his mouth shut. Matt doesn’t need him pushing where it isn’t wanted. “Dad—your grandfather—he did shit he wasn’t happy about for money. It ended up killing him, in the end.”

Peter rolls everything he knows about Grandpa Jack in his head, compares it to the situation and Matt.

“But—well, have you considered the _reasons_ why he did stuff he didn’t want to?”

Matt shifts mid swing, catching the bag instead of hitting it. “What?”

“It’s just—consider priorities, is what I’m saying. Priorities and potential end results. Is doing pro bono work in a crappy office that you can’t pay for more important than selling yourself to a big company that would still let you help people? If so, okay, sure, go for it. But what happens if you do that? It sounds like Foggy wants to take the Hogarth deal and Karen—I don’t know what’s going on with Karen, to be honest, but I don’t think she’s planning on staying around.”

Matt frowns, unwrapping his hands. “No, I don’t think she is. She’s always smelling like newspapers.”

“Huh. Well, okay, that would leave you running your own business, doing mostly pro-bono stuff. Which, okay, that’s cool. But can it pay rent? Food? Medical supplies? Is it capable of staying afloat in the long term?”

“Joining HC&B isn’t all pros,” Matt points out.

“It’s not. You’d have to get in on time because they won’t suffer the ‘showing up at 10’ thing you could pull off as a partner in your own firm. And we’ll have to get good at hiding your bruises and stuff with makeup, but I can get MJ to give me a tutorial.”

“She doesn’t know about Daredevil.”

“No, but she’s super suspicious, keeps asking me about your relationship status so really, asking her how to cover it up won’t draw new attention.”

Matt rolls his neck. “You’ve considered this.”

“It’s just-” he breaths sharply through his nose- “I want you to take care of yourself,” he settles on saying. “With DA Reyes gunning for you guys, I think it’s important to think about what’s going to happen. Like when you experiment. You have to consider if two chemicals are going to result in an explosion. Or if what you’re creating will benefit society or damage it.”

“You,” Matt finally murmurs, ruffling his hair, “Are way too smart for me.”

* * *

The night is almost looking up after the Foggy/Matt fight and subsequent mid-life crisis about the morality of giving into capitalism. All the way up until they open the door to their apartment and the danger sense _screams_. Peter shoves himself back against Matt, trying to get him back out of the apartment. Matt makes a surprised sound, tilting his head and abruptly lunging to put himself between Peter and their apartment, snarling into the darkness.

“Now now, Matthew. Is that anyway to greet an old friend?” Peter freezes at the voice, entire body vibrating. Matt tries to block his sight line, but is a few inches short so Peter can just make out the woman lounging in the arm chair, finger gently playing with the spider plant sitting next to her. Her dark, expensive clothes are unidentifiable from the furniture in the dim lighting of the flashing billboard, her features cast in shadows as she grins slowly at them. Peter doesn’t go for the light switch, frozen where the hall meets the living room, pinned behind Matt’s form; the danger sense vibrates at the base of his skull, spine cracking with how straight and tight he holds it. Everything about this woman, from the drawl of her voice to the casual elegance of her posture, down to the fact that she’s _in their home_ tells Peter to be wary. His instincts tell him she’s _deadly_.

“Elektra.” It’s the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen snarling, voice gravel and hips dropping low as he steps forward, placing himself firmly between her and Peter.

 _Elektra._ Oh. Matt’s only mentioned her once or twice, and never in detail. Peter assumed she was dead or a nasty ex. Consider the long swoop of her eyes over his form, Peter is leaning towards the latter.

“That’s not much better. And aren’t you going to introduce us?” She turns to Peter, smile sharp. “You must be who’s living in the second bedroom. I wondered.”

“You don’t talk to him,” Matt hissed. “Get out.”

“Matthew I-”

“Aren’t welcome. Leave. Leave this apartment. Leave this city. Leave this _continent_. I don’t want to see you again.”

Elektra rolls her eyes, stalking to her feet with the easy, controlled power of a predator. Peter sees that same movement every day in Daredevil.

“Come now, Matthew. I need your help.”

“You aren’t getting it.”

Peter dares a step closer, hand lighting on Matt’s wrist, desperate for something to settle him in the rolling clench of his senses keeping him on edge. Elektra’s eyes cut to the contact and everything in his head _screams_ before settling back down to the steady ­ _oh-shit-get-away-don’t-like-her-nope-noping-nope_.

“If we can’t help her we can find someone who can, at least.”

“ _No,_ ” Matt snaps at the same time as Elektra’s insisted, “I need Matthew.”

“Dad,” Peter reproaches, trying to pull off Uncle Ben’s _you-know-what’s-right_ look. It falls at the small twitch and overt still that settles over Elektra, the responding tension in Matt’s shoulders and arms.

“’ _Dad’_?” she murmurs softly, eyes piercing over her sneering lips where she looks at him. The flash of emotion is gone from her face, replaced with cool disinterest. “Well, Matthew. Can’t say I suspected you were hiding a secret child when we were going out.”

“That’s not what happened,” Matt bites out. “But he’s right. What’s your problem, Elektra? I’ll get someone to help you out.”

“I need a lawyer, and you’re the best there is.” She explains shortly about her father’s money. Matt doesn’t immediately call bullshit so Peter sends a quick text on his burner. He has a response five minutes later, cutting into their vitriolic back and forth.

“Black Clematis says Deadpool is doing a thing with Roxxon. He’s getting paid to pick a bone with, quote, ‘those international human trafficking, mob backing, Yakuza fucking, cultists shiznos’, end quote.”

“And what,” Matt asks, already looking like he’s regretting the question, “is a shizno?”

“It’s a reference. It, uh, basically? If a skunk’s shit shit, the result of _that_ would be a shizno.”

Matt definitely seems to have regretted opening his mouth.

“That confirms that Roxxon is working with the Yakuza, at least. And did you say cultists?”

Matt hisses at her. “You just wanted to goad me into helping you fight the Yakuza.”

“Can you blame me? I _know_ you, Matthew. And I need your help in this. The Yakuza are planning something _big_.”

“You don’t know me, not anymore.”

“Honestly, Matthew.”

“No. I’ll let Deadpool know to watch your back if you guys cross paths, if he likes you he’ll offer his help. Should get along just fine, you’re both killers, after all.”

Elektra rears back, snarling at him. “Don’t you judge me, Matthew. You have no _idea_ -”

“I know exactly what you wanted that night,” Matt spits out. “Now, get out. The second you’re done with the Yakuza business, you leave this city.”

Elektra turns on her heels, hesitating in the doorway. “I really do care about you, you know.”

“I did too.” Peter flinches at the difference in tenses, but Elektra doesn’t seem surprised as she slips out. Finally Peter’s danger sense falls back into silence.

“Was that… okay? I mean, shouldn’t we help?”

“Mandate 10.”

“Mandate 11.”

Matt rolls his shoulders before pulling Peter into a side hug. “Priorities, remember? And my priority is you.”

* * *

Matt and Foggy start talking about the possibility of taking Hogarth’s deal.

Harlem is starting to be thrown into chaos but when Matt reaches out to Luke, he’s insistent that he can handle it. Harlem, now with its own super, is drawn into the same problem as Hell’s Kitchen and Midtown; are vigilantes good guys or not? Do supers deserve to be considered human?

Protestors and rallies can’t seem to decide.

__

Matt is tightly coiled the next few days, but he doesn’t go after Elektra, choosing instead to focus on the new weapons hitting the streets. Turk, recently back from Harlem, is more than happy to discuss where it all went in exchange for not getting his lights knocked out. For a few blissful nights, Daredevil and Beelzebub are back to chasing normal crimes and checking in on Jess when she warns them that she had a client that tried to get her arrested for existing. A few bodies of gangs pop up and Punisher is sighted in Harlem, of all place. Luke says he had a run in with Frank when they both went after someone named Diamondback. Black Clematis has no idea _why_ the Punisher—who up to this point went exclusively after people to do with his family’s murder—is suddenly up and gunning for a weapon dealer, but she is determined to find out. Luke says Frank seems like a good guy, if it wasn’t for all the murder. After Frank beats up some guy named Shades, he disappears again, leaving the media wondering what’s happening with him.

Matt and Peter are at home considering whether the Diamondback situation in Harlem is a level four and thus calls for Mandate 11 when they get a call from Deadpool. He and Elektra did meet and team up, though Deadpool assures them that “she doesn’t have that great of an ass, yours is better, Red. She’s not big on the team thing either, always ‘shut up’ this and ‘you’ll give our position’ that. Didn’t even thank me when I found the super-secret book and got the writer to translate. Anywho, we found a pig pile of dirt in a shipping crate before we got attacked by ninjas—wasn’t even fancy dirt, I checked—wondering if you two want to help us out, we’re on our way to check out where the dirt came from, thought you might like some of the ninja action.”

Matt didn’t want ninja action, thanks. Peter, however, didn’t like the idea of letting two people fight a bunch of ninjas by themselves—also, he really wants to know what’s up with the dirt.

They go to fight ninjas.

* * *

“It’s a… hole.”

“Maybe it’s a magic hole?”

“I mean, it’s not sparkly or pink, so…”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not magic.”

“Well, what other ways do we check for magic-ness?”

Beelzebub does not have an answer to this question. He does know how to get an answer to the hole, though.

“Right, I’m climbing down.”

“You are not!” Daredevil finally stops staring down into the hole, pulling Beelzebub back from the edge. “There will be no hole climbing today. That thing is way too deep.”

“Double-D, I’m _sticky_.”

“I. Don’t. Care.” Beelzebub stretches his toes down so he can stick to something while Daredevil shakes him by his scruff.

“Perhaps,” Elektra drawls quietly, “We can focus on the enemies getting close.”

“Oh, ninja time!” Elektra glares at Deadpool, but he doesn’t seem to care, focusing instead on pulling out his words with a soft _shing_. “Bea and Arthur have so been looking forward to this.”

“What ninjas?” Daredevil asks, just as a shuriken pierces the wall by his head. “Oh. Those ninjas.” Elektra and Daredevil have a quick, hissed conversation but Beelzebub can’t make it out over the sudden fight.

Deadpool meets their swords with his own, unresponsive to Beelzebub’s shouted “No killing!” Beelzebub is left lunging under a blade, leg snapping out to hook around a knee. The ninja rolls with the momentum, barreling into Beelzebub and knocking him off his feet. He knocks the blade aside with his palm, hand burning with the cut. It gives him enough time to web the blade down and knock out his enemy.

He dodges to the right on instinct, rising to his feet and catching one ninja with a web and swinging him into three others. Letting adrenaline take over, he moves through the battle, catching one guy as he lunges for Daredevil, swinging him into Deadpool, who knocks him out with a pummel strike. Beelzebub steps under another attack, Elektra rolling over his back and into a downward kick. It’s easy, with the four of them. Beelzebub is trying to catch his breath when he spies Elektra lifting a blade over a downed ninja and he moves without thinking, web pulling the blade out of her hand in time with Daredevil’s shout. He sees the twitch of the ninja before she does, her eyes towards Daredevil, and so he moves, twisting his body to put himself between her and the flash of the blade. His side burns, throbbing in time with his hand and the drumming of blood in his ears. His vision warps and blurs until suddenly Daredevil is hoisting him up, screaming.

No. Peter’s the one screaming.

Their moving, three shadows following Daredevil, hounds on the Devil’s heels as they make their way out of the building and into a car. Peter tries to figure out where the car came from and how they ended up with another member, but finds unconsciousness first.

* * *

The pain hits first. A throbbing ache, burning across his hand and ribs. Murmurs of soft prayers, interrupted by harsh derision and quick tempers come next. The entire area smells of blood and acid, sweat and armor. His mouth is dry and rough and Peter realizes, as he cracks his eyes open, he’s once again in Matt’s bed, his father settled next to him, Deadpool and Elektra visible through the open door, an old man with pale milky eyes standing over the bed. The danger sense is a high pitched wail in the back of his mind, still distrustful of Elektra, but flat out _terrified_ of the old man.

“Dad?”

Matt’s head snaps towards him, shoulders slumping. “Oh thank God.”

“You might try thanking me, Matty,” the old man snarks, but Matt is leaning over Peter, hands framing his face.

“You doing okay? How are you feeling?”

“Probably better than you look.” Matt barks a rough laugh, pressing a kiss to Peter’s forehead.

“Don’t insult your father like that.” His hand brushes the bandaged hand at Peter’s side and he flinches. “Sorry. Was poisoned, why you went down that fast.”

“Yeah, it kinda sucked.”

“Let’s agree not to do it again, then. You’ve been spending too much time in my bed lately.”

“Could’ve put the brat in his own room,” Old Guy brakes in.

“Don’t fucking start, Stick.” Peter startles at the vitriol in Matt’s voice, side aching with the movement. “Don’t move, sweetheart,” Matt murmurs, turning away from Stick—and what a name. “Poison’s taken care of, but it’ll be a couple days before you can move.”

“Fuck, I got a test tomorrow,” he says, trying to lighten the mood.

Matt goes very still and Peter immediately regrets opening his mouth. “You have a test tomorrow.”

“Um, no? Would you believe me if I said no?”

“What’s the test for.” That would be a negative, sir.

“You know, I really can’t remember, maybe I hit my head-”

“ _Peter_.”

Fuck, Dad-Voice achieved. Retreat, retreat.

Peter mumbles the answer, slinking back into the pillows, but Matt, the super-hearing little shit, only says, “Sorry, didn’t catch that. Mind repeating?”

“I said American History.”

“Funny, isn’t that your lowest grade? Isn’t this the test that was going to bring you back to an A?”

“Dad.”

“You know, weirdest thing. Could’ve sworn we had a rule for this exact situation. How did it go?”

“Daaaaad. I’m sorry, okay? It was an emergency.”

“Something like, ‘no going out before tests’? Had a little number eight next to it? Pinned to the fridge you scavenge through every two hours? This ringing any bells?”

Peter sinks lower, face burning and gut twisting. It’s not like he meant to get bedridden—again—and it’s not his fault American History sucks and is depressing and boring and happens to have a very large test to celebrate the end of September.

Matt sighs heavily, running a hand down his mouth. “I’ll call your school in the morning and email Mr. Stevenson to see if you can reschedule.”

“Sorry, dad.” Matt just presses another kiss to his forehead.

“I know. It’s alright. Well, no, it’s not, but we’ll be talking about your inclination to step in front of attacks not meant for you at a later date.” Peter does not want to have that conversation, thanks. Maybe if he’s aggressively perfect for the next forever Matt will forget to be mad.

“Well isn’t this touching,” Stick bites out sarcastically.

“Really is. Just make me cry why don’t you,” Deadpool sobs a little, wiping at his mask.

“Whatever. Kid’s a decent fighter, from what I saw.” Peter wrinkles his nose at the blind man pun, shifting as Matt tenses beside him. “He can help us out when we go-”

“ _No_.”

“Aw, panties in a bunch, Matty? You clearly don’t mind him fighting-”

“I’m going to say this _once_ Stick, before it turns into your death knell.” Matt rises from his seat, snarling and teeth bared in a Devil’s threat. “Peter doesn’t fight for you. He doesn’t fight _with_ you. Now that he’s clearly okay, you’re going to leave my apartment, leave _my city,_ and never come within a hundred miles of him.”

“Worried I won’t go easy on him like you do?”

“This isn’t a discussion, Stick.”

Stick barks out a harsh laugh, lips twisting in a grin. “I don’t hear a denial. You might like to bitch about my methods, but I trained you and Elly to be the _best_ , to do what needs to be done. Leave your kid with me for a few weeks and we’ll see how he turns out.”

“I’ll kill you before I let that happen.” Peter whips his head to Matt because, while he can’t hear heartbeats at any given moment, he has no doubt that Matt _means it_.

Stick must have similar abilities to Matt because his head tilts and his grin widens. “Is that what it would take? Me going after Petey? If that would finally get you to do what’s necessary, I might take you up on that.” And then the danger sense is _screaming_ , everything in Peter’s head going a mile a minute, telling him to run, to hide, to crawl into a small, dark attic until this _predator_ goes away.

“Come now, Stick,” Elektra cuts in. “We can handle the Hand ourselves.”

“Now, now, Elly. Would’ve thought you wanted Matty to join us, one big happy family.”

“Yeah, how about no?” Deadpool raises his hand. “I’m getting a lot of _no_ vibes from Red and Mini-Red, so I’m going to elect it’s time to go now.” There a brief moment when everyone stares each other down, the danger sense going so loud it goes silent, if that could make any sense. Like a recent widow too filled with grief for her scream to have any sound.

Stick, finally, drawls an invitation for Matt to come find them when he’s ready to fight the war before sauntering out with Elektra at his heels. The danger sense stays loud for a few minutes before finally settling back into silence.

“That was fun, so glad I got to meet your Tragic BackstoryTM, Red, let’s never do this again, yeah?”

“Thanks, DP,” Peter says, smiling at the guy. “Sorry you had to get dragged into this.”

“Meh, what’s a little crazy between friends. Got to get back to the fiancé though, don’t want to be disemboweled.”

“You’re engaged?” Matt wonders.

“Oh yeah, she’s great. Always ‘Wade, why weren’t you home sooner’ and ‘Wade, where’s your arm’ and my personal favourite; ‘Wade, I thought I told you no more limbs in the freezer’. God, I love her. Anyway, toodles.” The sudden personal information is astonishing, leaving Peter reeling. Deadpool never talks about himself or gives any personal information. None of them really talk about anything serious outside of business but Deadpool especially is paranoid about anything too close. Peter’s heard him talking to Yellow and White—the voices he mentions sometimes—about when Daredevil and Beelzebub will turn on him.

Of course, Deadpool suddenly knows the identities, faces, and home of Daredevil and Beelzebub, so maybe this is his way of keeping them even. Mutually assured destruction if anyone talks, and all that. Nice of him not to just blackmail them.

“Bye Wade,” Peter calls. Afterwards, Matt and Peter find themselves settling into quiet, the sky lightening with dawn.

“Well, let’s not do that again, yeah?”

* * *

Matt finds the body of some teenager—member of the Hand—on the roof, stinking of Stick. He doesn’t tell Peter about it, just drags the body a few buildings over and leaves it to be found.

~~He’d known someone was coming for them. Had heard the stumbled steps after he knew Peter was okay.~~

He prays for forgiveness, just as he did the night he let Frank get his revenge.

_~~“What would you do if someone killed your boy?”~~ _

Matt doesn’t think about the answer.

~~He knows he wouldn’t come back from it.~~

* * *

Peter manages to retake the test and even manages the 96 he needs to bring his grade up to match his other As. It’s sucks, but he manages by bringing up a recent street art piece depicting the X-Men and Avengers split, teams mixed and preparing to fight each other with an Abraham Lincoln quote—“If destruction be our lot than we must ourselves be its author and finisher”—and comparing the recent civil unrest with the civil unrest before the Civil War. Not that Peter thinks they’re heading towards a Civil War. There are protests, and rallies, there’s been deaths, but nothing drastic.

~~Not yet.~~

* * *

A dozen children are found dead, blood drained.

~~Matt listens to the report of how they were each beheaded and disappears for an evening with Jess, coming back reeking of cheap whiskey and bad decisions.~~

The public explodes, Normals calling for justice from the “supers” who did it, supers denying that any evidence points to this being something other than human maliciousness. Steve Rogers, caught off guard on a grocery run, says “Humans do terrible things, but do we put them in camps? Have them register? Why should supers be treated any different.” That, in itself, causes new rifts to appear. Someone compares it to gun control and suddenly whether all supers should be registered or not is a matter of the first amendment. Another compares it to the Holocaust and there’s calls of Normals being Nazis that die down only when a twelve year old girl posts a video on YouTube explaining, in great detail, how her grandparents survived the Holocaust, saved by the Allies, but died in 2012 because the Avengers hadn’t given New York enough time to evacuate. “There’s a difference between registration and inhumane imprisonment, and logical evolution of the government to include a new branch that deals with the training and application of superhumans. The CIA, FBI, and the everyday cop has to be trained and carry identification. They’re called in for situations they can deal with. Is it so wrong to ask that superhumans do the same?” The video goes viral.

President Ellis says that a plan is being prepared and international news outlets report that the UN is watching how the US deals with this and making a global plan about superhumans from there. Even as everyone in the country starts choosing sides, the world keeps turning and Hell’s Kitchen doesn’t stop moving.

Peter doesn’t see Karen at all, not even when she goes to the hospital. Apparently, she’d had a meeting with DA Reyes that had led to the DA dead and Karen injured. The papers claim it’s the Punisher but Peter calls bullshit. Frank never goes after civilians. Hell, Beelzebub doesn’t even count as a civilian and Frank felt bad enough for hurting him that he stayed around when Peter was accidently shot. Matt assures Peter that she’s fine and that her and Foggy have “gotten their heads out of their asses and kissed, finally.” Peter’s happy for them.

She also, apparently, has a potential job at the Bulletin when she figures out the rest of the Castle case. Karen gets out of the hospital and immediately gets in another firefight but isn’t hurt this time. Nelson & Murdock is quietly closed down, Matt and Foggy set to start at HC&B next month. Jess, when she’s told, congratulates Matt on selling his soul to Satan.

Claire tells them she’s moving up to Harlem and has quit Metro Gen. She doesn’t give details but leaves her address and tells them she doesn’t want to be involved but will help out if there’s no other choice. Peter and Matt wish her well.

Ned, after he’s gotten everything he can for Castle, gets distracted. He keeps coming to school, but he jots down code instead of notes and Peter sees him light the code on _fire_ when he’s done with a page. He doesn’t say it, but Peter and MJ are pretty sure Rising Tide is planning for something big.

MJ is worst, going distant, Black Clematis neck deep in pulling all the threads of the Castle issue. The day she comes up with a name—Blacksmith—she disappears, digging for anything else. Finally, she gets Peter a location: the Pier.

* * *

By the time Daredevil and Beelzebub get to the Pier, the Punisher is already there. There’s a few bodies littering the deck of the ship, and it doesn’t take long to hunt Frank down. The whole time Beelzebub remains tense, danger sense binging low and insistent that something isn’t quite right. When he finally lays eyes on Frank, gun pointed at a cowering figure, Peter doesn’t hesitate to web the gun and fling it out of the room.

“God damnit, kid,” Frank snarls, kicking the downed guy in the face when he twitches. “Red, get the kid and go.”

“Frank-”

“We’ve already had this discussion, Red. I don’t go after innocents, I don’t do it with your kid around, you stay the fuck out of my business and on your side of the line.” Beelzebub jerks at the words, mind slamming back to the night Matt came home and whispered prayers of forgiveness, of the bodies found the next day. He wouldn’t. Matt—Daredevil—out of all of them, has always been the most steadfastly against deaths. Of any kind.

~~After meeting Stick, Peter can’t blame him.~~

Condoning deaths-

Beelzebub looks at the clenched jaw, the twitch in the pressed lips, and knows he’s right.

~~This is his _dad_.~~

~~Uncle Ben’s killed criminals during work.~~

He shoves the thoughts down, pushes them away to contemplate later.

~~Or forget about completely.~~

“Do you seriously believe that the Blacksmith would be here, waiting for you?” he says instead of screaming about morality.

~~He’s broken bones, and heard the moment when screams turn to answers.~~

~~Torture doesn’t really work because anyone will say anything to get it to stop. When you have someone that can tell when they’re lying…well, things change.~~

~~Uncle Ben would be so disappointed in him.~~

Daredevil says something else that has Frank slamming into him and pushing them out of the room. Beelzebub follows, scanning the deck, the crates, the water and pier around them. His danger sense is boiling over into a screech in his head and he barely hears Frank yelling about his kids.

~~He’d forgotten what Clematis had said about the Castle family. No wonder Matt’s given in.~~

Beelzebub stands next to Daredevil, trying to freak out quietly. “Guys, we really need to go.”

“What’s up, Beel?”

“Just—bad. Something is wrong, my senses are freaking the fuck out.”

Daredevil twitches his head and Beelzebub hears it the next moment. Car engines. “Ten, armed.” His head jerks. “There’s gunpowder below deck. We gotta get off, now.”

It’s already too late, Beelzebub knows, body vibrating with the danger in the air. The cars are opening, and Frank twitches towards a voice before switching directions and going for Beelzebub and Daredevil. Beelzebub sees the movement, realizes what Frank is planning to do. Daredevil doesn’t have enough time to react, but Beelzebub—enhanced by a spider bite, a mutate, super-senses and super-reflexes such a deep part of himself he can barely remember how he functioned without them—lashes out with a web as he feels himself tip over the side, latches on to Frank and _pulls_ , puts as much super-strength into the movement as he can, watching in a detached sense of victory as the Punisher goes flying just in time for the boat to explode, fire and dust and gunpowder filling the air until it’s nothing but water over his head.

Frank gets a hold of himself first, scowling even underwater and going further up the pier before going up. Beelzebub grabs hold of the struggling Daredevil—relying on scent and hearing to navigate means he’s _actually blind_ in water—and lugs him through the water and up where Frank had been. He’s already gone by the time Beelzebub and Daredevil surface, gunshots echoing near the boat.

Beelzebub should go after him, should stop him.

On the ground, Daredevil coughs up water and grabs hold of Beelzebub’s wrist.

“We should head home,” he says, comment punctuated by another gunshot.

Beelzebub needs to stop Frank from killing anyone more.

~~Uncle Ben killed in his profession.~~

It’s not their job to decide who deserves to live.

~~Daredevil has already decided to stand aside.~~

Their job is to protect people.

~~Is a profession without sanction still a profession?~~

~~Is vigilantism a profession?~~

~~Or is Peter just kidding himself, hiding the truth behind armor made illegally?~~

Beelzebub pulls Daredevil up and they head back home.

The Punisher is left to do his job.

* * *

At some point in the past months, Matt has acquired a tiny, old school box TV that they use exclusively for the news. Every morning it’s become their habit to listen to the news while they get ready for the day and eat breakfast together.

Today there’s news about the bodies found by the pier. But among the conjecture about the Punisher and why he went after what appears to be his old military buddies there is an offhand mention of an unidentified old man found dead, seemingly killed by a katana through the chest. They flash a picture.

It’s Stick.

* * *

 _Black Sky_ they call her.

 _A daughter of the Beast_ they whisper in the halls as they bow low.

 _A path to power_ they think as she beats them all in training.

No one presses their lips thin when she’s too violent. No one ships her off to strangers. No one tells her who to hate, who to fight.

 _We serve the Beast_ , the five fingers tell her, _and you, Black Sky, are his daughter, his voice on earth._

 _What are your orders?_ they ask, lips pulled back from teeth in vicious, blood soaked grins.

 _Why don’t we start with you telling me how to meet my father_ she purrs in response.

* * *

Harlem’s Paradise, a club in Harlem, has a shootout. Two days later, Luke Cage calls Matt and asks if he’s willing to be his lawyer.

Matt says he’s happy to take on Luke for HC&B, now why don’t we get you out of prison good sir?

* * *

Colonel Ray Schoonover is found dead in his home, death attributed to the Punisher. Evidence is found that he was dealing weapons with military men he served with. Karen Page, for her first article, slaps the story of Frank Castle and how his family was killed in an op gone wrong to take down the Blacksmith—aka Colonel Ray Schoonover—on the front page. It is immediately picked up by super supporters to demonstrate that the government is a piece of shit. This sentiment is reinforced by what follows only a few weeks later.

* * *

**SHIELD or HYDRA? Rising Tide reveals government is a cover for terrorism!**

_By Karen Page, Reporter for the Bulletin, November 12 th, 2015._

**Author's Note:**

> Don't know if you can tell but Rising Tide and the Hand will NOT be the same as in the MCU.   
> :)


End file.
